


Deluged

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2056728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Maedhros is wet (not a euphemism) and the Nolofinwëans are loud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deluged

The rain had come up out of nowhere, and had settled in to stay. Gasping at the sudden onslaught, Maitimo ran up the path to his uncle’s house, soaked to the skin in a matter of minutes. He sheltered on the doorstep for a moment, wringing out his hair and looking down hopelessly at his soaked shirt. He hadn’t bothered to bring a cloak when he’d left his house, and now his fine linen shirt was wet through. He raised his hand and knocked, dripping pathetically. 

There was a long wait, though he tilted his ear towards the door, frowning as he heard several loud bangs and some muffled yelling. And…music? 

The door was yanked open, and he almost fell through it. Turukáno was standing at the door, looking frazzled. 

“Oh! Maitimo.” He drew his dark brows together. “You’re wet.” 

“Brilliant,” said Irissë, from the table, where she was skinning a rabbit. “I can see why they always say you’re the smart one, Turno.” 

Turukáno glowered. “Ireth, I have asked you before to PLEASE NOT BUTCHER ANIMALS INDOORS.” 

Irissë made a face at him. “As Maitimo so  _effectively_  illustrates, you arse, it’s RAINING outdoors.” 

There was a crash of chords from the drawing room, and everyone flinched. 

“What was that?” asked Maitimo, rather alarmed. 

Turukáno and Irissë both heaved long-suffering sighs. 

“Arakáno,” said Irissë. 

“On the harpsichord,” said Turukáno, looking agonized.

“I didn’t know he could play,” said Maitimo, craning his neck to look.

“He can’t,” said Irissë, and jerked the skin off the rabbit in one fluid motion. Turukáno gave her a pained look. 

“He’s bored,” said Turukáno, turning back to Maitimo. “And so he’s decided to teach himself to play. Also to practice the battle cries of Tulkas.”

Another crash from the drawing room, and a sound that Maitimo hadn’t known a harpsichord could make. “Is something  _wrong_  with the harpsichord?” he began, but Turukáno and Irissë both shook their heads. 

“That wasn’t the harpsichord,” said Turukáno, just as Irissë said, “No, but there’s something deeply wrong with our brother.” 

There was a clatter on the stairs and Findekáno appeared, looking thunderous. 

“By the Valar, Arko, if you keep abusing that instrument like that, I will break it in two and I will shove it so far up your – Maitimo!” He stopped, halfway down the stairs and gazed in surprise at his cousin. Maitimo looked down. For a moment he’d forgotten his wet clothes, in the chaos of entering the house. 

“Um,” he began, but Findekáno cut him off. 

“Hasn’t anyone told you you’re supposed to take your clothes off before going swimming, Nelyo?” 

“Ha ha,” said Maitimo. “No need to be so solicitous, cousin, I’ll just stand here and freeze.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” said Findekáno, grinning, then clapped his hands to his ears as another discordant clangor rang through the house. “Arakáno, I swear by the Valar and by Eru Ilúvatar – ” 

“Findekáno!” said Turukáno, scandalized. “Don’t you dare blaspheme.” 

“ _Fine_. I swear by Turukáno’s daintiest small clothes that if you lay hands on that harpsichord again, it will be the last thing you do.” 

Turukáno groaned and cast himself down in a chair, leaping up almost immediately as Irissë said mildly, “Careful, that’s where I’ve been putting the giblets.” 

The terrible music stopped from the other room, and Findekáno heaved a sigh of relief. “Quick, Maitimo – no, don’t take off your boots, we’re leaving.” 

“It’s raining,” said Maitimo, casting a beseeching glance at Irissë and Turukáno, who studiously ignored him. “It’s  _pouring_ , Finno, I was hoping I could dry off…” 

“No, absolutely not, I promise you would rather drown.” Findekáno pulled on his own boots and shunted Maitimo to the door. “I have been stuck inside with my siblings all day, and I’m going slowly mad. Yes, I know you have even more of them, but I swear mine are worse.” 

There was a thump and a puff of black dust from the drawing room. Maitimo looked on, amazed, as Arakáno called, “I unblocked the chimney! And I found your favorite sword you were missing, Finno.” 

Swearing so elaborately that Maitimo was rather impressed, Findekáno wrenched open the door and shoved them both out into the deluge. 

“Free!” Findekáno spread his arms and turned his face up into the rain. It quickly soaked his face, plastering his hair to his head and his shirt to his chest, but he looked delighted. “Thank Eru.” 

Maitimo wrapped his arms around himself and looked at his cousin with a jaundiced eye. “I was hoping for warmth and comfort at the house of Nolofinwë.” 

“Well, that was stupid of you,” said Findekáno, and took his hand, tugging him down the path. “It’s a forsaken madhouse. And I know that’s a strong claim to make to someone from the house of Fëanaro, but I’ve always said we’ve been  _severely_  underestimated when it comes to insanity.” 

“I’ve never underestimated you,” muttered Maitimo, letting himself be pulled into the deluge. “I’ve always known you were mad.” 

“And yet you loved me anyway,” said Findekáno, grinning back at him and blinking rain out of his eyes. “What does that say about you? Incidentally, Maitimo,” and he pulled him into the shade of a spreading oak, “a white shirt and a rainstorm do  _wonders_  for you.” He reached up and pulled Maitimo into a kiss, heedless of the thunder rolling above them. 

“You’re not being very discreet,” murmured Maitimo, even as he kissed Findekáno back hungrily, and wrapped his arms around his cousin’s waist. 

“It’s a thunderstorm. Who else is about?” 

“Other mad people?” 

Findekáno grinned and bit at Maitimo’s lips. “Nothing to worry about, then.” 

So Maitimo gave up worrying about being seen, and about the rain soaking through his clothes, and gave all his attention to the strong body pressed against him, the arms about his neck, and the warm lips under his. 

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. I like the idea of making the Nolofinwëans the nutty branch of the family.  
> 1\. Written after getting soaked to the skin (to the bone, it felt like) during an ill-advised bike ride in the most intense rainstorm we've had since that 1,000 year flood last September.


End file.
